


Transmogrify

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Huxloween & (K)inktober 2016 [6]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Body Horror, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Injury, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Size Difference, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:45:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: Armitage Hux is weak-willed, thin as a slip of paper and just as useless in any universe. Ben Solo will never be as strong as Kylo Ren who will never be as strong as Darth Vader. He will always be in pain. He will never cease to be torn apart.In their dreams, they see snatches of a life they could have lived--in another time, another place--another galaxy far, far away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The latest in the [Huxloween & (K)inktober](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/post/151128365869/kawaiiloren-ivanhoenineteenninetyfour) mash-ups, this time it's _hidden, size difference, transformation_ for your reading pleasure.
> 
> I'd had some vague ideas about this prompt, but they really came together when noxogoth posted her piece for the [Huxloween/Transformation prompt.](http://avaahren.tumblr.com/post/152599802289/avaahren-noxogoth-must-have-been-some-kind)

The Commandant followed as Armitage ascended the stairs two at a time. Armitage clenched his fists so tightly that his hands shook. He might have handled the tirade better if it were issued in bellows that echoed through the house and made the Commandant’s wife complain that they were aggravating her migraine, that she was a delicate woman and she needed _quiet_. He might have handled it better a year ago—before Ben Solo. Before he realized that he could have something more, that he deserved something more, that he _wanted_ something more.

“You’re distracted. Your grades are suffering. Your work at the firm is lacking.”

The Commandant was close on his heels as he reached the top of the stairs and bounded down the hallway. Armitage focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

“You’re spending all of your time with that fool! Helping him when you should be focusing on yourself! Where is that going to get you? Where?”

Armitage opened his bedroom door and strode inside. The Commandant followed still, speaking to the back of his head and the rigid set of his shoulders.

“Do you think you’re slick, Armitage? Do you think it’s not abundantly obvious what you’re doing?”

Armitage drew in a deep breath, filling his chest as he counted to five. He held the air in for another count and then let himself deflate for the same.

“I don’t understand why you are determined to make a complete embarrassment of yourself! To sit and listen to Lonno Deso blather about Organa’s son, to hear how well he was doing in his studies and how surprised the family and their associates were to find that the partner he was so taken with was a Hux!”

Armitage closed his eyes and dug his nails deeper.

“I don’t give a damn who you fuck on your own time, Armitage, but you _will not_ continue to embarrass me by carrying on so publically. Just because you’re able to keep your pants on in this house does not mean that outside of it the rules of engagement go out the window. This is a complete outrage! I will never understand why you’ve allowed yourself to become entangled with that… that… dimwit! I will never understand why Snoke allows him to carry on as he does! And you! _You!_ You are allowing his idiot ideologies to taint _your_ work! Your writing has become so full of purpled language it’s _pathetic_. How Snoke has approved any of your most recent pages is beyond—“

Armitage turned on his heel and gulped in air, steeling himself. “Dr. Snoke is a _professor of philosophy!”_ His volume rose with each word that tumbled from his lips. “He was the only one to show any interest in my work or my person and _that_ is how I came by him as a mentor! He was Ben’s before he was mine! No one else in history or government or law would take me on when they put two-and-two together as to who spawned me! No professor in their right _mind_ wants to deal with you, even indirectly! Academia is an extremely small world, _sir_ , and people talk. And when they talk, they talk about their students. You are _so_ overbearing and _so_ difficult and _so_ controlling that even those few professors from my undergraduate studies who I had a good enough connection with to use as references felt the need to forewarn those who I was attempting to work under _now_! I am not a child! I am an adult and you _do not_ have the right to interfere!”

“I am the one paying for your education, Armitage, I will _interfere_ as I see fit! If it had not been for _my_ interference you would still be floundering and switching majors every other week!”

“Have you ever stopped just once to wonder if my hesitance had anything to do with the pressure that you’ve put on me?”

“That pressure wouldn’t exist if you’d simply followed the plan set out for you! Instead we’re _here_ and you’re spending your time getting your brain fucked to mush by that _unstable brute_ of a—“

“Ben Solo is the single most complex and intelligent person I have ever had the _honor_ of associating with and you will do well not to insult him when I am within earshot, _sir._ ” He sucked in a great heaving breath, hands still clenched at his sides for fear of using them in a way he might regret. Words could be forgotten, willfully changed in remembrance. Actions were less elastic in memory. “He is creative and innovative and his view of the universe is absolutely _infuriating_ in its lack of concrete evidence _but he is brilliant_ and I envy his unrepentant attitude toward his theories and his studies and his place in the world and—“

Armitage continued, babbling, taking a halting step forward and speaking before the Commandant could throw his next verbal barb. He couldn’t find it in him to defend himself, but he wouldn’t stand for this.

“— _and I love him._ ”

“Outrageous,” the Commandant hissed. His features contorted, face reddening while the vein in his temple throbbed. “ _You_ will do well to reconsider your position.”

“I’m going to spend my life with him.”

“This disgusting sentiment will _stop_.” The Commandant turned and stormed from the room, slamming the door so hard that the bones in the display case beside it trembled.

Armitage felt gutted—as if someone had reached into his abdomen and ripped all of his vital organs out with their grubby claws. He shivered violently, teeth chattering with the surge of enraged adrenaline he felt as he stood staring at the closed bedroom door. Slowly, he forced his body to cooperate. Stumbling, he crossed the room to his bed, clutching the posts for support as he moved around it and sank to the floor. Hidden from sight, the sheer bulk of the bedframe and mattress shielding him from the rest of the room and the door, he sobbed. It was tearless and dry, ripping the back of his throat to shreds with the force of it.

Relieved and drained, head pounding like a jackhammer, Armitage stared without focus at the wall in front of him. The bright afternoon sun streamed in through the open curtains in mockery of the rain from the night previous. The heat of it warmed the top of his head and the bedding he was leaned against. It sank low in the sky, falling below the windowsill until the light burned red and blinding and faded into dark bruise splattered with bright spots—an inverse of the expanse of pale skin of Ben’s back.

Once, Armitage heard the Commandant’s wife’s measured steps approaching his door. The steady click of her high-end heels was like a metronome that he’d measured the beat of his heart against for as long as he had memory, wishing for an altogether different woman even before he could grasp the concept of _step-mother_. There were low murmurs and exasperated sighs. Armitage could imagine her speaking to their dinner guests when they arrived, telling them that unfortunately he wouldn’t be joining them at table—he’d taken ill, he was resting, he sent his sincerest regrets.

Armitage crawled into bed without changing, shoes still on his feet. He curled in on himself atop the comforter and ignored the growling of his stomach and the sharp pains at the base of his skull.

He drifted to sleep, falling off so completely that it felt as though he’d left his body behind—or never had one—or had a different one altogether.


	2. Chapter 2

Hux blinked slowly to awareness, his fingers gripping the edge of the sink tightly and the glare of the light above him making his consciousness of the throbbing behind his eyes all too acute.

The man in the mirror was both familiar and frightening.

He looked too old by ten years. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes hollow. His skin seemed sallow, practically anemic. A wave of nausea rippled through his body. He felt as though he didn’t belong—as if some other body, someplace, was a better fit.

“Lights off,” he muttered as he left the refresher, crossing into his quarters. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he belonged elsewhere, that some other obligation was calling him. The chronometer on the wall screeched, time for his shift on the bridge to begin.

The _Finalizer_ had taken heavy damage. Crews of technicians and engineers were working through cycles to repair it, focusing on the gaping wound in her side and her useless hyperdrive.

_Weak-willed! Useless!_

Hux shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. His father’s voice hadn’t flitted through his memory in years and there was no reason for it to be there now. He picked up the glass of cool, reclaimed water from his desk and drank it down, biting back the taste of bile and wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Sir!” Mitaka called out to him as he stepped onto the bridge, waving his datapad through the air frantically. Hux got a distinct sense of him as someone younger, a fearful kind of hopefulness on his face. Hux shook his head, banishing the vision. “There are Resistance crafts in the area. Still several parsecs off, but close enough to be a threat.”

“And how are our shields?”

“Nearly non-existent.”

“How much damage can we take?” Hux tapped the keys on his console, entering and reentering his security clearance codes, unable to remember them for a moment.

“Not much.”

“Pull the techs in—we can’t afford to lose any more man-power.”

“Of course, sir.” He tapped at the keys on his datapad, issuing the order that would chirp across their comm units. “General, may I be frank for a moment?”

“Just a moment, Lieutenant.”

“As loathe as I am to admit it, I believe we would be fairing much better if we had the aid of the Ren.” Mitaka lowered his voice. “Has the Supreme Leader abandoned us, sir? The last we heard from him was just before Kylo Ren was delivered to his coordinates. We haven’t received even textual communication and have not been able to initiate contact ourselves.”

Pain lanced through Hux’s head. Where was he? His surroundings seemed suddenly unfamiliar. His clothes were too stiff, too tight. His shoes pinched his feet. The air was too cold, too stale. The lights were too harsh. “S-snoke? Snoke. I—I have to…”

“Sir?”

Hux turned, trying to get his bearings. Images flitted through his head in a whirl of light and color.

An elderly man with a twisted face sat behind a desk with a snobbish expression.

A crooked smile filled his mind’s eye—soft lips against his skin and an expanse of pale flesh speckled like some far-flung planetary system under his hands— _‘Tige!_

Mitaka gasped as Hux gripped his arm for support, hands shaking as he held tightly. “Sir!”

“Doph?”

“I need a medic, _now!_ ” Mitaka eased him onto the floor, panic plain on his face.

“General? General! Lieutenant! The Resistance crafts are approaching! Sir!”

“F-fire at them.” Hux balled his hands into fists, eyes fixed on his console as he pushed Mitaka away and balanced on all-fours. “Now! Fire!”

He watched as the icons on his holoscreen moved closer, as the targeting system locked. The _Finalizer_ rumbled worryingly as it sustained yet more damage. Someone shouted that a blaster turret had been lost. Hux’s vision blurred and he lowered his head, trying to ward off the sickness he felt.

The bridge filled with blinding red light. It washed over him in a way that felt utterly purifying, as if being born again. Transparisteel shattered and the void of space stole the order he intended to issue from his lips before it was realized. His body was alight with red-hot coldness, his chest tightening and tightening as he tried to suck in a final breath—

Armitage Hux was falling and burning, bathed in that light. He could see himself as if floating outside of his own body, plummeting in tandem. His lips blackened as he opened his mouth to scream, soundless in his agony. He reached out, grasping desperately until his fingers found purchase against slender arms. He looked down at stripes on sleeves and on thumbs and peered into eyes filled with unfathomable rage.

“No!”

Armitage tried desperately to shake the creature wearing his face away. It pulled him in close as they fell. His chest ached, sternum feeling as though it might crack as the creature pressed their bodies together. Nose-to-nose, snarling and spraying saliva, the creature screamed, “ _Get out! Get out! Get out!”_

Armitage felt himself be swallowed, consumed as the creature’s mouth widened, unhinged. He blinked, frantic, trying to tear himself away only to realize he was looking through the creature’s eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

“Ben, we’re worried.”

Ben looked from his mother to his father. He could sense his uncle pacing in the next room without having to be told he’d arrived. “Did you—“ He ran a hand though his hair, gripping it tightly. “Is this a _fucking_ intervention?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Is that why you insisted I come up here this week? When you knew I had a deadline? Is that why we’re all here?”

“Absolutely not, _Ben_. Listen to me!” His mother looked anguished. His father rose from his seat and walked over to the window, looking at the leaves rustling in the wind just outside. “We insisted you come up here _because_ we knew you had a deadline. Ben— _Ben!_ You’ve been so distant and so stressed. We—I—we thought that it would help to be away from school for a bit, away from Dr. Snoke.”

“Dr. Snoke is—“

“Pushing you _too hard_.”

“He’s not pushing me hard enough!”

“Ben! Listen to yourself! You’ve written thousands of words this month, how is that not being pushed hard enough?”

“Dad? Dad! Dad, what the _fuck—_ “

“Ben, you’re not yourself. Have you…” Han turned. He looked at the floor, gathering his thoughts, and then back at Ben. “Have you been keeping up with your meds? Making your appointments?”

“Of course I have! And you _know_ you can check up on me if you’re so damned worried! What the fuck did I sign those papers for if you don’t _fucking_ use the—“

“Ben, we’re not taking advantage of the release because we want you to trust us—and we want to trust you to let us know when there’s a problem.”

“There is no problem!”

“Ben,” Leia spoke softly, forcing him to pay attention. “You’ve been manic.”

“No, I haven’t!”

“Yes, Ben, you have. I don’t doubt that you’ve been keeping up with things but you know that your meds can go out of whack when you’re under a lot of stress and you _have_ been. You either call at all hours of the day and night—or you don’t answer at all. It’s obvious you’re not sleeping.” Leia stopped, gasping, her face twisting in grief.

“I slept last night.” Ben’s chin quivered, betrayed. “D-dad?” He said quietly. Han moved closer, putting his hand on Leia’s shoulder in a show of solidarity. “Well, what… what does Luke think? Uncle Luke. What does Luke think?”

He left what he wanted to say next unsaid: that Luke knew him better than either of them did. That Luke never shied away from his moods, never would have blindsided him this way. Ben sucked in a wet breath, blinking rapidly and trying to clear the salty sting from his eyes, only succeeding in making fat tears roll down over his cheeks.

Luke was leaning against the doorway when Ben looked up, ever silent in his movements like some other force moved him long in the world that everyone else was denied access to. “I think your parents have a point.”

“But—“

“Ben, that last paper you sent me to proofread? It didn’t sound like you. It sounded like… it sounded like Snoke. Your—your ideas aren’t _yours_ anymore. Or—or they’re yours but they’re coming out of a filter made entirely of _him_.”

They sat in silence for several long minutes, Ben trying desperately to hold himself together. Luke crossed the room and sat down beside him, a firm, grounding hand on his knee. Luke called Ben’s name quietly and Ben nodded saying that they’d talk later. His heart not thudding so loudly in his ears any more, he made himself look up at his parents once more.

“Ben, let’s talk about something else.” Leia said softly, “How are things with Armitage?”

“What?”

“Armitage Hux. You’re seeing each other, aren’t you?”

“Ye-yeah. _Yes_. We’re seeing each other. We’re _together._ ”

“I just… I have to wonder if things are okay between the two of you.”

“Ma, I know you don’t like him, but—“

“This has nothing to do with whether or not I like him. It’s Lonno—“

“What the _fuck_ does he have to do with anything?”

“Lonno was at a function earlier today, and the Huxes were there. He… he remarked that he’d heard the two of you were dating, that you were doing so well with school, that you seemed so happy lately—“

“What the _fuck_ business is it of—“

“Brendol Hux denied knowing you even existed. Armitage… he—he didn’t say anything either way, not immediately. Lonno said he mentioned that the two of you shared a thesis mentor and that you were acquainted, but… Ben, are you sure he’s as invested in this relationship as you are?”

It was a punch to the gut, all the air gone out of him. “’Tige… Armitage. He—he’s…”

Leia covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. I just got off the phone with Lonno and I—I’m sorry, Ben—“

“No, no you don’t _get_ it, mom. ‘Tige… he’s not allowed to—he can’t— _the Commandant_ —“

Han looked like he might crack in half. Luke squeezed Ben’s knee comfortingly, “Take a breath, Ben. Remember all that meditation we used to do? Take some breaths.”

Ben looked up into Luke’s face, open and honest and comfortingly soft in its bearded splendor. He matched Luke’s breathing nearly unconsciously, slowly feeling some of the tension leave him.

“Okay, try again.”

“He—‘ _Tige_ —he—“ Ben caught himself, forced his tongue to stop moving faster than his brain could string words together. “He’s not allowed to… he’s not allowed to date.”

“What?”

“His father doesn’t let him… he doesn’t let him be with people.”

“What are you talking about, Ben?”

“It’s chess moves it’s… Lonno, he—he’s ruined it.”

“Ben,” Han furrowed his brow and crossed his arms. “That sounds ridiculous. You know that sounds ridiculous, right?”

“I know! I know! But it… it’s true.”

Leia frowned, her features souring with it. “Even with as little as I know personally about Brendol Hux, I wouldn’t put it past him.” Ben nodded emphatically. “At that last dinner at the school—the one where they honored Snoke, he—“

“That red-headed brat?”

“ _Han—_ “

“He was downright _rude_ , Lei!”

“Dad, stop!”

Luke put a hand up, stopping Han in his tracks. Leia continued, “He was very stand-offish.” Ben nodded, trying to convey meaning with gestures where he couldn’t find words. “Ben, you look exhausted. I shouldn’t have brought this up. I’m sorry, I’m just worried about—”

“I’m fine!”

“What is all this ruckus?” Maz shuffled into the room in her house slippers. “What’s the boy done?”

“Maz, this isn’t—“ She put a hand up, mirroring Luke and shutting Han up instantly.

“Ben Solo you look like hell. You need a strong cup of something and some fresh air. Go find some nice long twigs out back there and practice your form. I missed your last competition.”

“Maz, I haven’t competed in a decade, I—“

“Indulge an old woman, Bennie.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Nonsense,” he heard her say as he moved down the hall. “All jumping on him at once. Don’t you remember how that used to work? All the shouting and smashing? My kitchen wall still remembers how it worked! The three of you should be _ashamed_ —“ Ben put it out of his head, his knuckles aching in sympathy, remembering the feel of her kitchen wall, too. “Alright!” Maz was bundled up in layers of sweaters when she came outside. “Did you find a nice stick?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, show me how all those fancy sword-ing lessons payed off.”

“Fencing, Maz.”

“Sword-ing, fencing, mowing the lawn,” she flicked her wrist, shooing him off into the yard. “Show me.”

Ben fell into an easy stance, en garde coming as naturally to him as putting one foot in front of the other to walk down the street. Feeling eyes on him from the house, he stood with his feet at a right angle, his knees bent shoulders back. He rolled his wrist, finding the balance of the long, thin branch he’d broken off. He stepped forward and back, extending his arm in attack and sliding forward into a lunge.

“Tell me about this boy.”

“He’s… he’s wonderful, Maz.” He lunged again and quickly shuffled back. “They can’t see it, but he’s wonderful.”

“Is he now?”

“I can’t remember the last time I was as happy as I am with him.” Ben swept the end of his branch around as if moving around the end of another blade. He lunged again, free hand swept out behind him for balance. “He so _smart_. And he’s mean—but I like it. He’s mean and he’s vain and he’s vain because he’s—“ He parried against his invisible opponent and slipped back, attacking and slipping into riposte and backing away again. “I think he’s vain because he’s broken and he doesn’t want people to know it.”

“Don’t go trying to fix him, now, Bennie.”

Ben shook his head. “I’m not.”

“Good. Now fix your feet instead, they’re too far apart.”

Ben smiled and shook his head and adjusted his feet, suddenly desperately nostalgic for his épée.

“Armitage is one of the most challenging people I’ve ever met. He makes me mad and he frustrates me but he makes me want to be better—and learn more—and be more. He has this shell and I think he’s protecting himself because… because his parents, well, they’re not good people and it’s all he knows. And I don’t want to crack it, I just want to… I don’t know. _Know it._ He’s so different from when we met—so different from how he was a week ago or a few days ago—and he never stops surprising me. He’s so brilliant in all the best ways and I don’t think he sees it. But I do. Even when he makes me mad, I see it. It’s always there.”

“That sounds like a very tumultuous romance.”

“It is.” Ben nodded and lunged. “But I think I love him. I think I’m _in love_ with him. And I don’t know where we’ll be a week from now or ten years from now but I want to enjoy it while I’ve got it.”

“And what if he hurts you?” Ben frowned, poised in the middle of a movement, puffing himself up unconsciously. “I don’t mean laying hands on you—though there is that, too. What if he hurts your heart? You say he’s mean—I don’t think you should like that. That’s not good.”

Ben stopped, pursed his lips. “I’m not explaining it right.”

“Then take your time.”

Ben sighed, tired of everyone treating him with kid gloves—tired of his brain and his mouth not working together and knowing his family was right. He was exhausted. He was running on fumes and flying high and waiting to crash. “I think he’s mean because he’s hurting and I know how that feels. I think that we have that in common, even if our hurting is different. And I love him because even though he’s hurting, he still shines—or he tries to shine. And I want that too. I want to do that. I want to try to really do that and not just fake it when I need to.” Ben let his pretended sword hang at his side, rubbing his open hand through the hair at the back of his head. “I don’t like it when he’s mean. Not really. But I like that he can _let_ himself be mean and I like it when he tries not to be. Does that make sense?”

Maz smiled her crinkly-lipped smile, “That sounds a mighty bit better in a very roundabout way.” She put her hand out, waiting for him to come take her arm. “Now let’s go in and you can find me some of that wine from last night with the spices in it. My old bones say snow and your father didn’t bring my boyfriend along to warm me up.”

It did snow.

The ground steadily turned white as Ben sat with Luke in the dining room, Ben’s laptop between them, working through making corrections on his most recent writing. Luke pointed to phrases that didn’t sound like Ben—ones that sounded so much more like Snoke’s words—and helped him turn things back around.

It snowed through dinner, the blanket of it softening the blow to his ego when he apologized to Leia and Han for the way he’d spoken to them. It snowed as Leia wrapped him tightly in her arms, pulling him down to her height and planting her lips against his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I realize that you… that you do what you do because you love me. Knowing ‘Tige, seeing for myself how he lives—it’s not my place to talk about his home-life. But I realize more than ever how good I have it. You’re not perfect, and I’ve certainly got my own problems… but I know you’ve only ever meant the best for me and I _am_ grateful that you made me come out here. I am. I’m gonna… ah, I’m gonna make an appointment for when I get back. See if I can fix this. If it’s fixable. If it’s not too late.”

Han looked broken as he pulled Ben in, an arm around his shoulders and a fist balled into the sleeve of Ben’s sweater. “We just want you to be happy, Ben. It’s not too late to be happy.” Ben nodded and gently extricated himself from Han’s grasp.

“I’m gonna head to bed, if you all don’t mind. I know it’s early, but—”

Luke smiled softly at him, “Go get some sleep, Ben.”


	4. Chapter 4

Snowflakes melted as they hit his skin. They fell in fat, white clumps like tiny clouds too heavy for the atmosphere to hold. That something so soft and pure could exist on a planet like the one that was crumbling under his broken body was a marvelous notion.

The _Falcon_ had hovered over the trees. Who was piloting it was a mystery. He briefly wondered if it was the Wookie before rage at _that too_ being stolen from him flared as the scavenger dragged the traitor through the underbrush to reach the craft and get off of that Force-forsaken rock, the saber that was rightfully his tucked into her belt.

He choked, coppery blood thick like molasses in the back of his throat, no longer able to deny that something inside of him had ruptured—probably made worse by his own self abuse. He tried to push himself back up onto his elbows, only succeeding in clenching trembling muscles before falling back limp against the cold ground.

“ _Ren!_ ”

Someone was screeching his name.

Rather, it wasn’t his name. It was an impersonal title, a shared identity that served to other him from those who did not share in his abilities.

But it sounded so sweet, so frantic—almost like a name, almost like a name he used to have.

Almost like a name that still lived somewhere in the circular web of the Force.

His fingers were cold and so were his feet. It wasn’t an effect of the temperature, even if his cheeks and nose were numb with the snowfall.

The numbness was almost soothing, balancing out the burning of the wound carved across his face and neck and shoulder. The wetness of the snow melting against his ruined flesh made his stomach turn. He stared up through the treetops. The sky churned in a dizzying swirl of bruises and blinding fire that left him light-headed. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the reedy quality of his own breathing, wondering if he might stop his own heart with the Force and end it before the planet went to pieces—end the pain that couldn’t be alleviated by any outwardly Dark act.

“Ren!”

Hux nearly stepped right directly on Kylo’s hand in his frantic rush. The general fell to his knees and leaned forward, bracing a hand against either side of Kylo’s head and blocking out the strangely shifting canopy of light. His heart fluttered weakly in his chest then throbbed too hard, working itself strenuously to try and keep what blood that wasn’t congealed on his throat or frozen into the snow circulating through his body. Hux’s face was a pale moon, an asteroid belt making shadows across the rise of his cheeks and nose, his eyes liquid pools where dangerous creatures lurked.

“Ren!” Hux gripped Kylo’s shoulders, trying and failing to lift him. “ _Ren!_ ” The single syllable sounded like several, anguish twisting three letters into thirty. Kylo barely felt the sharp slap against his unbroken cheek, didn’t quite register the demand that he remain conscious.

The rumbling of the planet and Hux’s shouting faded into background noise, just a low buzz in the velvety blackness that fell over Kylo, soft as snow.

“Ren! Don’t do this!” he heard. Somewhere, Hux was demanding a Trooper move faster, calling for a shot of adrenaline, anything to get him up and moving toward the transport.

It no longer mattered.

Still in the darkness, he felt whole.

There was comforting pressure on his knee, an arm around his shoulders. He felt himself rise, supported by an unseen force. Something gentle and warm touched his face and the burning intensified, hot tendrils of pain burrowing from charred flesh into bone. He opened his eyes wide, gasping past the thickness in his throat as the pain flared bright and sharp, erupting from him and pushing whatever gentle thing had dared come to his aid away. It manifested in hard projections, blood-red crystalline formations tore out of his skin. He felt weaker as they grew, glowing from within as if what power he had left was trapped within their shining facets.

Grateful for the supple leather of his gloves, Kylo pushed in on the pain-turned-solid, delirious as he tried to force bright things back into his body.

_Ben—we’re worried._

Familiar voices rang out in his head, calling him in more familiar ways that were stale by years.

_Ben, you look exhausted._

He nearly laughed, writhing as sharp edges sliced through the gloves and bit into the calloused skin of fingers and palms. He stopped fighting, names echoing in his head and never the one he’d chosen for himself. Shifting onto his side, trying to take pressure off of the sparkling growths, Kylo felt himself falling slowly through the dark like he’d rolled over some edge.

The crystals pulsed with light as he drifted down, cracking and breaking open, bits of them falling away until he was suspended in a field of sharp shards like beacons on a holoscreen—the approaching beam of the _Starkiller_ before a planet turned to ash—the hot plasma of his saber’s blade.

He jerked, his body yanked up like a rag doll through lost pieces of himself and the darkness and the cold until he surfaced, gasping for breath and grappling with the sleeves of Hux’s uniform as the general held him and the transport shook as it struggled to leave atmo.


	5. Chapter 5

Armitage woke late, the mid-morning sun streaming into his bedroom window with punishing exuberance. He slowly stretched his arms and legs, still curled in on himself. His neck was sore, the skin of his face was tight with dried tears. He rubbed hard at his cheeks, embarrassed even though no one was there to see him, and stumbled into the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went and heading straight for the shower.

Water set to scalding made him feel almost new.

Dried and dressed, he hazarded a trip down the stairs. Moving cautiously through the house, he appealed to whatever higher power that might be listening, hoping that per usual protocol the Commandant would be willfully keeping up a charade that the events of the previous afternoon had not happened.

“Sir?” He ducked into the den, the kitchen. Finding no one, he moved back up the stairs. The door to the master bedroom open, he didn’t bother to check inside. “Father?”

Armitage hesitated at the threshold of the Commandant’s office. He crossed to the window, peering down at the driveway. Both the Commandant’s and his wife’s vehicles were notably absent. Armitage reeled, bewildered and confused. The argument they’d had was no worse than any other. Panicking, he sat down hard in the Commandant’s chair.

“Calm the fuck down, Armitage. They haven’t _abandoned_ you.” He slouched in the chair. “You great ginger _child._ ”

Getting himself under control took considerably more effort than he ever would have admitted. In the silence of the house, the ­ _tick-tock_ of the grandfather clock downstairs echoed. He took slow, deep breaths and forced himself to sit up straight.

“It was just a silly fight. It wasn’t the first and it won’t be the last.” Armitage stood, combing the fingers of both hands back through his hair and sucking his stomach in tight. “Especially not if you’ve any intention of staying with Ben.”

He scanned the room, everything in its proper place. The crystal decanter of scotch glowed an inviting amber on the side table between sleek file cabinets, the _Arkanis_ crest hanging over it in a macabre, sentimental display. His eyes fell to the neatly arranged folders on the Commandant’s desk. Curious, he sat again, running his fingers over the edges.

Since leaving the academy, it was never clear how Brendol Hux made his money. As Armitage understood it, there had been a hefty severance package aside from the pension that was a part of his contract as headmaster. Hush money, mostly, he theorized. Things at the academy had gone quite sour toward the end. The contents of the Commandant’s office could hold any number of secrets that pertained to the _consulting_ that Brendol claimed to do.

Armitage suspected it was something more akin to amassing information and threatening people with it, no different than what had kept him in power over the board of directors at Arkanis for so long.

He flipped the topmost folder open and skimmed the words on the page.

_American Philosophical Quarterly_

_The American Journal of Semiotics_

_Ancient Philosophy_

His brow knitted together as he thumbed through print outs of PDF versions of the publications. Snoke’s name appeared frequently. Less so, was Ben’s—listed once as a main author, other times amongst Snoke’s collaborators. Curious, he gazed over the section titles of an article authored by Luke Skywalker and Ben Solo. The latter was much more positive in outlook in an unsurprising way. He perused an essay in _Ethical Theory and Moral Practice_ , Luke’s name at the top and Ben’s listed in acknowledgements in small-print.

Why would the Commandant have these? Why did he care?

_“As if I haven’t read his papers, Armitage, **really**_ **.”**

He clenched his teeth and closed the folder. That Ben was extensively published wasn’t a revelation. He had good connections, his writing tended to be prolific. Armitage was sure there were things he’d contributed to that the Commandant hadn’t found for whatever reason. Shifting the folders on the desk, he drew a thinner selection to the top.

The pages in the second folder all seemed to have come from the same source, bearing a thoughtfully designed header—text in the negative space reading _Initiate Trials_.

Armitage continued to skim, his heart racing as his attention jumped around on the page, his eyes tracking too quickly.

 _Emotion, yet peace._ A blockquote in the middle of one page read. _Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet—_

_My uncle says that all things come in time. My own thoughts on the matter are entirely opposite. Rather, I think, time comes with all things. I feel that this distinction can be useful in reasoning—_

_Posted by reluctantpadawan on 09 AUG // 783 notes // reblog // like // permalink_

_I just want to hit something._

_Sometimes I feel that no shame in me can be greater or run deeper than that which I feel for myself. When I think of my mother and the pain on her face when—_

  1. _was pointedly absent today. Not physically so, but mentally. Emotionally. Sometimes I wonder if—_



_My most recent sessions with ST have been stagnant. I’m in a slump and I feel like I’m drowning or burning, both at the same time? He’s suggested—_

Armitage felt his face grow warm with embarrassment. While these were clearly from a publically accessible forum, it felt utterly wrong that he might read them—even more so that the Commandant had laid eyes on them.

”… _that unstable brute of a—_ “

Things clicked into place. The barbs that his father had thrown, the odd bits of information he seemed to cast casually into his tirades. He’d been doing his homework, clearly.

Why Armitage had expected anything less was a serious gap in his judgement. He wondered, flipping the folder closed once more, when the Commandant had put two-and-two together, when this investigation of sorts had begun. He opened the folders once more, frowning at the lack of URL or date of access in the bottom margins of the pages.

“Darling, _really_ , this can’t continue. You need to come to some kind of a middle ground with him. It’s unseemly.” Armitage flinched at the sound of the front door opening, the Commandant’s wife imploring him on some matter. Hastily, he rearranged the folders on the desk, confident that they were back in order. He stood and pushed the chair in, just as his father always left it, and bolted from the room on the quietest feet he could imagine. He could hear the clatter of keys on the kitchen counter though no verbal answer from the Commandant to his wife. “I’ve just gotten home, yes. I’m just dropping some things off and then I’m out to the club with Vergere. She’s only in town for a short while.”

Armitage composed himself, plastered against the upstairs hall, waiting a beat before walking down the stairs as casually as he could manage.

“Oh! Armitage, there you are.” The Commandant’s wife had a cool smile as she removed groceries from a paper bag, small items from some specialty shop. “I was beginning to think you actually were ill.”

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s good to hear.” Armitage nodded and gathered groceries from the counter, moving toward the fridge with them in his arm. “Have you got a class today? It’s been months and I still have no idea what your schedule is. It seems like you’re out at all hours, anyway.” Her heels clicked across the floor and she rose up on her toes to put things in a higher cabinet.

“Yes, I have class this evening.”

She hummed a sound of acknowledgement and finished putting her things away. Turning, she crossed her arms and leaned back against the countertop. “I wish the two of you wouldn’t antagonize each other.”

“I apologize.”

She nodded. “Well, that’ll be the last of it then. I’m quite tired of hearing about all of it.” She paused, considering something. “Is there a reason you’ve chosen to get mixed up with that senator’s son?”

Armitage put his shoulders back and tucked the paper bag under his arm, folded. “My association with Ben Solo has nothing to do with who his mother is.”

She put a hand up. “You’ve gone all pink around the ears.” Collecting her keys and her handbag from the center island, she changed gears. “I’m off, then. Enjoy your class.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She patted his cheek in some semblance of affection as she passed him. Armitage listened to the sound of her heels in the hall and the latch of the front door.


	6. Chapter 6

_Ben._

_Re-eh-een!_

_Ben._

_Ren!_

_Ben._

He startled as he woke, reaching out to grab his assailant. Wild-eyed and disoriented, he looked up into his father’s face. Hands poised on Ben’s shoulders, he stood perfectly still, mouth open as if to speak.

“Dad!”

“Ben, wake up.”

“I—I am. I’m awake.”

“Are you okay?” He waited for Ben to release his arms before he made any attempt to move, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah?” Ben sat up, rubbing his face vigorously. “Yeah. Yes. I’m okay.”

“You’ve slept almost a whole day.”

“What?”

“I was getting worried. Mom said I should just let you sleep, but—“

“No, no, I’m glad you woke me up.”

Han reached out and smoothed Ben’s hair away from his forehead, a tender expression on his face. “Bad dream, kid?”

“Sort of.”

“Wanna tell me about it?”

Ben snorted. “No thanks.”

“You sure?”

He shrugged. “Someone stole something from me. Something important.” He pause, scrunching his face in displeasure. “Then they took off in the Falcon.”

“You let ‘em get away with my car?”

“No, I didn’t _let_ them. I was hurt, I couldn’t stop them.”

“And where the hell was I?”

Ben blushed and looked away, drawing his knees in toward his chest. “Where is everybody?”

“Maz dragged your Ma’ and Luke out to get stuff for a big dinner. We got the house to ourselves for a couple’a hours at least.”

Ben nodded and looked down at his knees, feeling awkward. “Hey, dad?” he said as Han stood and turned toward the door. Han paused, waiting for him to finish. “You wanna watch a movie or something?”

Han grinned and thrust his hands down into his pockets, leaning back onto his heels and grinning. “How about _Indy_?”

“Aww, _dad_ —“

“You used to love those movies, Short Round!” Ben grimaced. “C’mon. I’ll make some popcorn. I think there’s some of that sweet junk you eat in the cupboard.”

Hours later, movie watched and dinner eaten, Ben curled into an overstuffed chair near the fireplace and listened to the familiar conversation all around. Lando Calrissian had arrived some time before their meal. He and Han were regaling the rest of the close-knit group with some outlandish story of their younger days.

Lando wiped his eyes, laughing so hard he’d gotten teary. “We were the _worst_ , Han. The worst. Better hope that boy doesn’t take after him, Lei.”

Leia frowned, “To my knowledge, Ben is settled down in a steady relationship with a fellow academic. Right?” She turned to Ben, brows knitted together.

Ben huffed an amused sound. “Right.”

“Oh yeah? What’s their name?”

“His name is Armitage.”

Lando raised a brow. “Sounds fancy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Speaking of which, Ben,” Leia lowered her voice, speaking to him alone. “Have you spoken to him at all?”

“No, not yet. I thought I’d bring it up when I got back. Give him a chance to explain what the hell was going on. I don’t really trust Deso’s story.”

“Ben—“

“You don’t know ‘Tige like I know him.”

“Alright.” She smiled softly. Leia always looked so much younger when she smiled. “I trust your judgement, Ben.” Conversation had resumed around them, lighthearted and full of laughter. “You look a hell of a lot better tonight.”

“I feel a lot better.”

“I’m glad.” She leaned over from her chair, grinning, and smacked his stomach playfully. “Now that we’ve got you well rested, we’ve just got to fatten you up.”

Ben laughed, “Mom—“ The sound of his phone chirping interrupted him. “It’s ‘Tige. Do you mind if I take this in the other room?”

“Go right ahead.”

Lando perked up as Ben moved past, answering the phone quietly and asking Armitage to hold on while he left the room. “Yo _oouu_ ng love! First love! Filled with true dee-votion!” Han chucked a throw pillow at him and he sputtered, laughing.

“Hey, sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem.” Armitage was quiet, his voice raspy like he’d just finished screaming at the top of his lungs.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” A car in the background honked their horn. Armitage swore and shouted back. “How about you?”

“I’m good. I’m glad I came out here. It’s been good for me.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You should come up with me—during winter break, maybe? I could see if we can come up before the family gets here. Have the place alone for a few days. We could do all the things you wanted to do at that bee-and-bee…” Ben snickered to himself, trailing off with a lilt.

Armitage made a breathy sound, like laughing with his mouth closed.

“Where are you?”

“Walking.”

“You sound… not so good.”

“I’m escaping. Or hiding. Or something. I don’t know. I needed to get out of the house.”

“Oh?”

“The Commandant should be home soon and I don’t want to see him.”

“So you’re… you’re hiding from him. By going for a walk.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“We had a fight.” Ben was silent, waiting for Armitage to continue. “I… I might have…”

“’Tige? What did you do?” Worst case scenarios rolled through his head.

“I might have told him something drastic.”

“Like what?” Ben’s heart throbbed against his ribs.

“That I loved you. That I wanted to spend my life with you.”

Ben felt his cheeks go hot and his eyes widen. “ _Armitage_.”

“I’m sorry. I know we’re… we’re not anywhere near that but I was so _angry_ and it just… it just came out.” Ben’s mouth went dry. “Ben… Ben, say something—please. I’m so sorry. I don’t… I don’t even know if you feel that way. I don’t even know if _I_ really feel that way. Ben,” he was speaking so fast he was nearly unintelligible. “Ben say something. Are you still there?”

“Did, um, did this—uhh—did this have something to do with, um, with being around someone who knows my parents?”

“How—“

“’Tige, I… I’m really confused about us.”

“Ben, I couldn’t say anything. Not there. Not with all those people. The Commandant—“

“Are you okay? Really?”

Armitage took a deep breath, the receiver making a crackling sound as he exhaled into the phone.

“Hello?”

“Ben, you know. You _know_ what he’s like.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“How did… how did you know? About—the fuck was his name?”

“Lonno Deso.”

“Yeah.”

“He called my mom to give her the scoop. It was kind of a big deal here.”

“Oh.” They were both silent for long seconds, listening and waiting for the other to speak. “Ben, you know… I mean… I _want you to know_ that… that I’m serious about you. About us.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Another honk of a horn, someone shouted in another language.

“You should go home, ‘Tige. You’re gonna get yourself hit by a car.”

“Ben, I—“

“I’m going to be here through the end of the week. I think I need to stay here.”

“Okay.”

“We can talk when I get home, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Go back to the house, ‘Tige. Fuck ‘im.” Armitage laughed, the tone strained. “’Tige?”

“Yeah.”

“I wish you would have said it to me.”

“Said what?”

“I love you.” Armitage sputtered in response. “Because I’ve been waiting to say it to you. It would have been nice to hear it first, even if you’re not sure, instead of your dad.”

“Ben—“

“You don’t need to defend yourself, ‘Tige.” He paused. “Can I say it?”

“I— _nn_ —yes. Yes. Oh, stars, Ben, please say it.”

“I love you, ‘Tige.” Armitage made a strange, strangled sound. “How about I stay on the line until you get back home? Make sure you get there safe. Do you have headphones?”

“Yeah.”

“Put them in so you’re not distracted, in case you need your hands—for something other than flipping a car off.”

“Okay.” He sounded a bit distant when he spoke next. “Alright, they’re in. Tell me… tell me about your visit. It sounded like there were more people.”

“Just Lando. He’s loud enough for a few people sometimes, though. In volume and personality.”

They chatted for a few moments, idle conversation about what Ben had had for dinner, how he’d slept for a whole day and then watched old movies with his father.

“I’m back now. He’s home.”

“Will you be okay?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. You can call again later if you need to. I might be online, if you want to see me.”

“Ben?”

“Yeah.”

“Just… I—I _lluuh_ —Ben.”

“You don’t have to say it now.”

“Thank you.” Ben heard him open and close the door. His volume dropped and his voice go closer again. “I’ll text you later.”

“Ben?” Leia poked her head into the room. “I’m going to make a pot of coffee, do you want a cup?”

He turned, feeling like he was swimming through molasses. “Yeah, sure.”

“You look like someone just slapped you. Is something wrong? With Armitage?”

“Uh, no, I-I don’t think so.” Leia raised a brow and stepped fully into the room. “He had a fight with his father.” She waited, expectant. “About what happened, yesterday—was it yesterday? I’ve lost track.” Leia nodded and said that it was. “He told his dad he loved me. He was out for a walk just now, needed to get out of the house.”

Leia pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “This has all become far too _Romeo and Juliet_ for my liking, Ben.” She crossed the room and squeezed his hand. “Just be careful, okay?” Ben nodded and watched her cross through to go to the kitchen.

The week flew by in a blur of visitors that crammed themselves into every available room and slept on every sleep-able surface. At some point, talk of Ben sharing his bed came up and was met with a resounding _no_ from both Ben and his prospective bedmate. It was a source of constant amazement for him at how many people came through all of their lives every day, how many stuck around and how many only made brief cameos in the larger scheme of things.

On Friday afternoon, Han approached Ben.

“Hey, you driving back to the city or are you taking the train?”

“I’ve got the rental until tomorrow, figured I’d drive.”

“Mind taking on a co-pilot?”

Ben smiled and shrugged. “Sure. Not much room for baggage though.”

“Nah, don’t worry, I packed light. I got a meeting with an investor in Manhattan early tomorrow. Then I’m back on the road.”

The first hour was quiet. The pair of them sat in easy companionship in the cockpit, artificial new-car-smell wafting out of the air vents.

Then the reception on the radio went out.

“You sure you’re happy?”

“Of course I am.”

“With school? The apartment?” Ben nodded after each one. “With the Hux kid?”

“ _Dad_.”

“I’m just checking!”

“Yes, dad. I’m very happy with ‘Tige.”

Han shook his head in disbelief. “I only met the kid the once. He wasn’t very nice.”

“He’s not nice.” Han frowned deeply, the expression creasing his brow and carving deep crevasses in his cheeks. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not a decent person.” Ben glanced at him again, weaving smoothly through traffic and zipping along the shoulder of the road toward a pocket in the line of vehicles. “You don’t know what he deals with—fuck, I barely know what he deals with. But the more I find out about it, the more he makes sense.”

“Your ma said he had a fight with his parents over you?”

“He told his dad he loves me.”

“Does he?”

“He was angry. He’s not sure. But I’m not sure, either, so that’s okay. We’re going to talk when I get back.”

“I’ll be in town for at least a day or so. I’m not leaving the moment my meeting is over. If you need anything—“

“I’ll call.”

“And you’re going to make an appointment?”

“Yeah, I’ll leave a message tonight.”

“Still writing that blog?”

“Mhm. Not every day, though. I don’t have the time.” Ben leaned on the horn, urging the slow driver in front of him forward. “You _can_ read it, you know. It’s there for people to read. I wouldn’t put it out on the internet if it wasn’t.”

“I know.”

They fell into non-conversation once more, commenting on the cars around them or the signs for cities and historic sites, calling out funny and foreign license plates when they spotted them.

 The sun began to set, warm yellow light turning intensely red as it filtered through the trees. Han squinted and flipped his visor down, slicing through the bright beam. Easing onto the breaks, Ben flipped his down as well, rental papers falling into his lap as he did. Traffic slowed to where even the creative maneuvering Ben learned when Han taught him to drive in the clunky old muscle car that sat mostly in the garage now didn’t help him advance toward the next exit. He sighed and leaned his temple against his fist, elbow propped against the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Han fiddle with the radio, searching for a local station to tell them the traffic report. Inching forward, the bright light from the sunset shifted, moving into Ben’s eyes again. He glanced up to adjust the visor, breath catching in his throat as he caught a glimpse of himself in the little mirror there.

Red light slashed across his face, bisecting it from just below his hairline and down over his nose.

“Ben?”

He remembered falling and pain and dark and white-hot cold and Armitage’s face so frantic and far too old.

“Ben, you okay?”

He cleared his throat and gripped the wheel. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He pulled ahead, closing a new gap in the lane. “You think we could switch? I’m kinda tired.”

“Sure. Can you make it to the next rest stop?” Han pointed to a sign up ahead advertising food and fuel in five miles.

“Yeah. I can make it.”

Finally home, Ben called Dr. San Tekka while Han ducked into the tiny bathroom of the cozily-cramped studio. Ben flopped onto the bed, turning his face into the pillows as the phone rang, imagining the scent of Armitage’s hair lingering there. He sat up abruptly as the answering service picked up. “Hi, I’m calling for _San Tekka and Associates_? I’d like to make an appointment. No, no, I’m already a patient. I’d just like to see the doc if there’s an opening soon. Yeah, it’s Ben Solo. No, it’s not an emergency—but I would like to been seen sooner rather than later. Yes, in addition to my regular session. Thanks.”

Ben could feel Han stalling in the bathroom while he finished his call, trying to give him privacy. “Everything’s good?”

“Uh-huh.” Ben stretched and chucked his phone onto the bed. “Do you wanna stay the night, or…”

“What? No, I’ve got a room where my meeting is.” Han folded his arms and leaned against the fridge. “Place looks good, kid.”

“I try.” Ben grinned and grabbed his suitcase, shuffling freshly laundered clothes back into his closet.

Han moved in front of the television in the little living space. “You ever gonna pick this thing up again?” He ran his fingers over the épée cradled by a pair of hooks on the wall. “Manhattan Fencing has adult classes, too, you know.”

Ben groaned, “ _Dad_.”

“Wh _at_? Okay, I’ll stop.” He turned, smiling fondly. “It was good spending time with you this week, Ben.”

Ben came forward and allowed himself to be pulled down into a hug, his hair ruffled to top it off. “Ack! Okay, stop! Go check into your hotel! Out! Get out!” He laughed, feeling light.

Less so, was that light feeling, when he woke to the chirping of his phone the next morning. Squinting through his grogginess, he swiped aimlessly at the screen until it picked up.

“Ben?”

“Arm… “Tige?” He rolled over, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Eight. I’m sorry. It’s Saturday, you’re probably sleeping in.”

“It’s okay. What’s up?” He stifled a yawn against the back of his hand.

“I’m just out and about, thought you might want to go for breakfast.”

“How about you come over instead? I’ve got a box of pancake mix.”

“Alright. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes?”

“Sure.”


	7. Chapter 7

Armitage was unsure of himself as he trudged up the four flights of stairs, winding past the out-of-order elevator again and again. An attempt to distract from his own tumultuous thoughts, he imagined how many building codes the management must be breaking—wondered if any disabled residents had taken action against the offensive lift. He reached Ben’s door too soon and hovered outside, smiling awkwardly at the woman who lived across the hall and scooting out of the way of her dog, mortified by the brightly colored sweater she’d dressed it in.

Armitage knocked three times in rapid succession and waited. Ben wouldn’t know he’d arrived; he’d slipped in behind another resident who’d recognized him.

“Coming!” the muffled response came through the door. Ben cracked it open as far as the chain would allow and peered out before closing it and opening it again fully. “Hey.” Armitage stared pointedly at the smattering of moles over Ben’s brow and not his lack of clothing, a selection from his pile of homey quilts clutched loosely around his waist. “Come in. I’m sorry, I would have been dressed—I fell back asleep.”

“I’ll go then. You obviously need the rest. I’ll see if Phasma’s around.”

Ben crossed to the bed and plunked down on the edge. “You look like _you_ need the rest.”

Armitage knew how terrible he looked—too old by ten years, face gaunt with lack of rest or appetite.

“You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. Just… just a bit of an insomniac lately.”

“Because of—“

“No, no. Not that. Things are quiet now. He’s kind of… ignoring me, I suppose. I’ve just been having very strange dreams.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m on some kind of space ship and it explodes. Or I’m running through the woods and it’s snowing and there’s an earthquake. Or…” He frowned, unsure of whether or not any of it was appropriate to share. “Or I’m watching you float in this big tank and there’s robots and I’m supposed to take you to—to Snoke’s office? I don’t know.”

Ben cocked a brow up high. “Snow, huh?”

“Don’t make fun.”

“I’m not. I’ve been having weird dreams too.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. I think it’s sort of stress related.” He shrugged. “Want to take a nap? Maybe you won’t dream.”

Ben leaned his head against Armitage’s shoulder and he rested his atop. “I thought we were going to talk.”

“We can talk after. It’s not a bad talk. Just a… a getting on the same page talk.”

“That doesn’t sound like a _good_ talk.”

“Well, it’s not _bad_ either. C’mon,” Ben shoved the quilt away from his waist and crawled under the pile of them, holding the edge up for Armitage to join him. “Haven’t been spooned in a while.”

“How about forked?” Armitage grinned, the expression falling a bit flat. He kicked off his shoes and shucked his jacket before crawling into bed and fitting himself behind Ben, knees slotted together and an arm wrapping around his waist.

“Fork you.”

“Mm. It is my turn, isn’t it?”

“Nap first. Then pancakes. Then talking. Then forking.”

“In that order?” Armitage buried his face into the silky waves of Ben’s sleep-scented hair—the faint fragrance of fading detergent from the bedding and the lightly salty sweat from being cocooned in so much of it.

“Procedures are subject to change without notice.”

“Alright then. Just notify me in triplicate if they change.”

Armitage drifted, an arm sliding up around Ben’s chest and his heartbeat pulsing steadily under Armitage’s splayed fingers. He marveled half consciously at the size of Ben. They were of a height, the proportions of their limbs quite similar—but with his body tucked in behind the solid, warm bulk of Ben he felt small.

Not insignificant—not useless or weak-willed. Simply small.

Perhaps truly thin as a slip of paper, but it felt complimentary--two parts of a whole.

Armitage slipped into the darkness of his unconscious mind and let himself be bathed in red light. He floated through a field of it, feeling it solidify into tiny, glowing shards—and he was a shard as well, just a small point of light in the vast darkness of things. Something reached out in the void, swiping the strange crystals aside and pulling him up into bath-like warmth that seeped into his bones. Comforted, he slept.

Dreamlessly.


End file.
